


take me down easy

by Aspidities



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alpha Kara Danvers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, F/F, Omega Lena Luthor, a love letter for getting out of the stagnate and into the new, but basically also a soulmate au, can’t pick a lane, sort of a long journey to finding yourself after losing yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26472178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspidities/pseuds/Aspidities
Summary: Take me down easyLet me land softlyBack in your arms
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 47
Kudos: 1268
Collections: Gays in Earth 38





	take me down easy

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ‘Take Me Down Easy’ by James Henry Jr. 
> 
> Someone asked me for a story where Lena was married, looking for a way out, and found her way to Kara. What came out is probably pretty much just a soulmate au, dressed in modern terms. Ah, but we don’t always get what we want.

Lena’s been married for two years and it’s…

Fine. 

Jack is fine. He’s very nice. Very well dressed, and quite polite, for an alpha. Attractive, trims his nails, doesn’t leave hairs on the seat. He treats her well— dinners out, high-range jewelry, mid-range vacations. Neither of them believe in soulmates, but he says he loves her quite often. Usually when he kisses her cheek on their way out the door. Sometimes it’s even convincing. 

Everyone likes Jack. He’s a good conversationalist—funny, charming, great with his anecdotes. He’s charitable and generally even-tempered. And Lena’s family even likes him, which is unusual. Lex challenges him to chess every chance he gets in increasingly testosterone-laden jovial ‘brother bonding’ sessions that usually involve one or both of them arm wrestling when the chess board is cast aside. 

Lillian, for her part, makes a point to put her very swarthy son-in-law on her arm when confronted with Democratic senators at the fundraisers that are her image support’s bread and butter—but she does seem to genuinely like Jack, for what it’s worth. She laughs at his jokes. When they visit the family ski lodge for the holidays, Lillian instructs the maids to use the flannel sheets that she knows Jack likes, and that is tantamount to open affection in Lillian Luthor’s lexicon. Her mother had even leaned in close at the wedding and told Lena (with no small amount of drunken admiration) that she’d married well, and it was the first real compliment she’d received from Lillian in over a decade. 

Her friends even like him—Sam hits on him endlessly, and Jess enjoys a spirited debate with him every now and again. Everyone enjoys his company. Everyone seems to love Jack. 

But Lena doesn’t love Jack. 

She knows she doesn’t love him, and she has known she doesn’t love him for some time now. She thought one day she might, but that seems an aloof and remote possibility by this point. It’s strange how disconnected she feels from the marriage, even after all the positive evidence that she’s made a good choice. Jack is her mate, but those words don’t hold any meaning. Nor does the scar—slightly faded and hardly even visible—on the polite underside of her wrist. 

At the time, when Jack had asked, she’d agreed to it more like a business transaction that made perfect sense. They’d been dating for three years after all. Their respective stocks were doing well—Lena was CEO of her family’s company after some internal scandals that left Lex quite unsuitable, Jack was looking to go public with his latest IP. They shared a neat apartment in National City’s toniest district, and they looked  _ great _ being photographed together. 

And Lena was tired of fielding rumors, lewd whispers, and obvious stares from every alpha in town who smelled her unmated omega status. She figured a few signed papers, a small ceremony, and a few minutes with Jack puffing into her hair, and afterward? Well, afterward she figured her life could actually finally begin, free of any distraction. No more investors from Des Moines leaning to look openly down her shirt. No more handshakes that turned into some alpha leaning in close to brush his unpleasant breath into her ear, suggesting she sleep with him for a better deal. That would all go away, if she was claimed. She’d be a mated women—muted, invisible,  _ safe _ . Free to conduct her business and live her life. 

It wasn’t like Lena Luthor was going to find love,  _ real _ love, anyway. Luthors didn’t do that. WASPs don’t endorse emotions, as a general rule. You could say it wasn’t in the contract. And Jack was as decent as any alpha she’d met. He deserved a good wife. Lena could do that for him. 

Or so she initially thought. 

Their marriage immediately had cracks. They couldn’t decide where to live. Jack had his heart set on buying a brownstone in the up-and-coming midtown area. Lena balked at the idea of the commute. So, in compromise, Jack had bought the condo without telling her. This was the first of many such marriage ‘compromises’ Lena would soon come to expect. 

Lena kept their old apartment uptown, where she lives alone during the workweek, and is generally very happy. She has a growing collection of houseplants, no TV, and an overflowing wall of books. She eats light, lovely meals, and her fridge is always filled with the kombucha she favors, instead of stocked with Jack’s steaks and craft beers. She sleeps under the stars in the skylight. She goes to the gym every morning at 5am sharp, goes to work, has lunch with friends, and comes home to pet the cat that Jack is allergic to and read Isabella Allende until she’s yawning. 

Until she comes home for the weekend. 

The routine is always the same and goes like this:

Jack is delighted to see her, which is nice for the first fifteen minutes. Then he gets amorous, and they go upstairs. They have sex—missionary, sometimes from behind, condom on, lights off—and Lena makes appropriate noises until Jack grunts, and moans her name, collapsing. Then he takes the condom off and throws it away, tucking it deep into the trash so their maid won’t see it. Sometimes he kisses her and offers to shower together, but more often they shower apart, and then there is usually a game or a Netflix show he wants to watch, so Lena parses her phone while he watches. And then they fall asleep, usually with the blue light of the tv still on. Lena doesn’t sleep well with it on, but Jack can’t sleep without it. So the compromise is that she tosses and turns while he snores beside her, content. 

And the next day, they wake up, have a sensible breakfast, and do it all over again. 

There’s not even any hormonal disruption—thanks to Jack’s pharmaceutical connections, they’ve both been taking the best suppressants money can buy for years. Lena doesn’t even really remember what it feels like to have a heat—to feel want, or need, or anything other than a dull roaring nothingness. She wouldn't want to anyway. The idea of Jack knotting her sounds uncomfortable and neither of them want children, anyway. Every day she wakes up, takes two pills, and looks at herself in the mirror, aware she’s giving up something, but unaware just what it is. 

And every day, Lena feels like screaming herself hoarse until she’s dragged away by men in white coats. 

Every day, that is, until the day she meets Kara Danvers. 

***

The day starts like any other. Egg whites and spinach breakfast, a quick pet to her cat’s head, and then rush off to work. She sits in the back of her town car, talking about the Mets to her driver, Bill, and then she’s greeted by her personal assistant, Jess, at the door, and handed an itinerary. 

It’s supposed to be a press junket tour of their latest charitable endeavor—a state-of-the art children’s hospital, complete with LuthorCorp technology on every floor, to keep nurses and doctors well supplied with everything they could possibly need for their vulnerable patients. It’s a bombastic gesture. Something her mother would do with sweeping arms and Reagan-era pantsuits but Lena’s altogether uneasy at that prospect. She keeps her monologue high and tight, with a quick smile, and then steps aside to let the head of the doctor’s board cut the ribbon instead. 

When Jess signals it’s time to take questions, she fields a few softballs, and is starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, when a furious-looking blonde alpha in the third row stands up. 

“Hello—Kara Danvers, Catco Magazine. Mrs.  _ Spheer _ , how do you respond to allegations that your husband is using his inventions to fuel war crimes in Syria and Lebanon?”

Lena blinks. She has no idea what this reporter means, but a sinking part of her knows it’s not out of Jack’s wheelhouse. He’s a bloodhound for profits, even war profiteering profits. It’s part of the reason she married him—his keen nose for negotiating makes him a strong business ally. But she doesn’t pretend to not know what he is. 

Jess tsks into the microphone. “Any so-called actions on the part of Mr. Spheer—“

“How do you respond to the accusation that Spheer Tech is arguably building a civil war between two once peaceable nations?” 

The blonde alpha rolls impassively right over Jess. Her eyes are bright blue butane flames, and her scent is riled up—frustated and heavy with emotion. Jack’s scent is almost invisible to her nose at this point—as is most alpha stink, now that she’s mated—but  _ this _ one she can smell. It’s spiced and thick—but not unpleasant. Appealing, even in her anger. Lena’s thighs press together tightly for an involuntary second, and come away sticky. 

_ Dear God. That’s telling.  _

She realizes the alpha is waiting for a reply, along with a room full of reporters and camera, so she swallows down some strange, glaze-eyed instinct that wants to take her, and lets her ‘business mask’ slide smoothly back in place. 

“Mr. Spheer’s business interests are separate from my own, here at LuthorCorp, and we rarely talk shop at home. I’m afraid I don’t know everything my husband does, Ms...Danvers, was it?” 

The alpha nods. Lena continues. “But if he’s selling weaponry to war criminals, I’d certainly say we have a lot to discuss over the breakfast table.”

That gets a laugh from the bulk of the room. The old blowhards aren’t hard to win over, but Lena still breathes an internal sigh of relief as she smiles politely. She knows reporters, generally. Most of them will take this answer as acceptable headline bait and walk off. 

But Kara Danvers isn’t even smiling. “So you’re saying you’re ignorant of your husband's doings?”

The mood of the crowd is not on the alpha’s side. Lena can see a few reporters shifting irritably, clearly wanting her to be quiet so that they can get their quote and be done for the day. Jess looks practically incensed—her ears are bright red and she’s glaring. 

“‘Ignorant’ is not the word I’d choose.” Lena starts, slowly, but Kara cuts in again, her scent suddenly much stronger. 

“Fine,  _ unaware _ . You’re  _ unaware _ of the mounting death toll caused by Spheer Tech in the Middle East, is that it?”

There are audible gasps. Jess takes the mic. “That’s quite enough. You’ve misrepresented yourself here. Catco is not a political—“

“It’s fine, Jess.” Lena touches her hand, and then again, more firmly, when the beta looks at her in askance. “Ms. Danvers, would you be willing to allow me to convene with you at a later time to answer your questions when I’ve had the chance to research this myself? I don’t want to take up any more of the panel’s time.”

“So you can hand me a list of talking points? I don’t think—“ The alpha’s scoff is hearty, but Lena raises a hand. 

“Please. I will not restrict your right to interview me in any way. I just need to see evidence of what you’re talking about before I defend my husband. Or myself.” 

A private interview with Lena Luthor is a  _ big _ get. Too big for a rag like Catco. There are a lot of murmurs of shock and disapproval. She ignores them. Her eyes are steady on the alpha. And the alpha’s gaze is steady on her. She shivers, slightly. 

“When?” Kara barks out, finally, her brows still narrowed. 

“I’ll have my assistant contact you.” Lena nods to Jess, who grits her teeth and nods curtly back. “This afternoon, if acceptable?”

“That would be fine.” 

“Very good then. If that would be all, I think we can get back to—“

The clamor of reporters starts up again, waving for their turn at questions. Lena is only half-attentive, however. She sees Kara toss her recorder in her bag, and give Lena a final, unconvinced look, before storming away, shouldering through the group. Something in her tenses, and then releases, when the last lingering hints of the alpha’s scent have gone. But she thinks about it, and feels the shivering, heated anticipation of  _ something _ all day. 

It’s a strange day that only gets stranger when, at 5 o’clock on the dot, Kara Danvers arrives at her office. 

***

Kara is ready to hate Lena Luthor with every fiber of her being. 

She’s read all about the  _ real _ Luthors— Lena’s stepmother and father. Lionel Luthor was known for his faux-charitable acts, his grand gestures, and all the while, his greedy lobbyists looted the city for all it had. The tax breaks and convenient bill riders had nearly bankrupted National City several times over, bringing the city to its knees before the Luthor empire. Everyone knew who held the purse strings….that is, until Lionel died. The family stepped out of the seat of power momentarily—just long enough for some grassroots movements to get a foothold—and then returned, with a newer, more corporate style. 

It was fully expected that the new figurehead would be Lex Luthor, Lionel’s eldest child and the scion of the family. He was smooth, confident, oil-slick with politicians. He was also incredibly dangerous, and the opposition had been collectively holding their breath for four years, waiting for him to take over. 

But then, unexpectedly, the role of CEO of LuthorCorp was given to Lena Luthor, the youngest and most unassuming of the bunch. Lillian and Lex both publicly stepped back, into lower ranking roles, and LuthorCorp began a sparkling new image campaign, complete with legitimate charitable gestures, all across the nation. It was downright odd. No one knew what to make of it. 

Least of all Kara. 

She’s been digging for dirt on Lena Luthor for six months, and all she turned up was a disgruntled ex-lover with a dubious background, and a penchant for penny gambling on card games in boarding school. Hardly a criminal mastermind. Even the dirty ex-lover, an alpha by the name of Veronica Sinclair, was a dead end—turned out she had very little in the way of information, and a lot in the way of complaining about how Lena had dumped her for ‘totally justifiable cheating which wasn’t really cheating anyway’. Kara had spent a fruitless, wine-soaked evening with Sinclair, gritting her teeth in frustration, but as the hours ticked away, it became clear nothing would be gotten from the exchange. Sinclair was a mess, but Lena was clean. 

She’d been to MIT, apparently on her own merits. There was no evidence that either Lionel or Lillian had donated a wing, as they had at Yale, where Lex had subsequently been invited to join the Skull and Bones. No, Lena had gone to MIT relatively unannounced by either of the adult Luthors, and apparently had even stayed in the public dorms. No private off-campus housing until post-grad, when it was expected and politely acceptable. She’d gotten her PhD quietly and with zero fanfare, and moved into the family’s research and development team without a peep. No one could have anticipated any kingmaking from her—at least not until she was suddenly crowned king, as it were. 

Then, Kara had discovered her husband. 

Jack Spheer is, undoubtedly, dirty as hell. She’d sucked in her breath through her teeth when she looked over his list of lobbying assets. Spheer Tech is all over war-torn industry. Medical supplies, armored vehicles, advanced weaponry. Most of it is legit, or at least paid to look that way, but the weapon sales are almost blatant. He supplies warlords and humanitarians alike, with little qualm for the distinction between the two. And it’s all done out in the open. No attempts to even hide it. It’s as if Spheer knows that no one would dare touch an associate of the Luthor family. With his omega in charge, he can use her charitable cover while he loots the Middle East for all it has. It’s despicable. 

She’d been all set to castigate Lena Luthor at the press junket for it. Aimed and ready to fire. She expected Lena Luthor to fire back. She expected ruffled feathers, perhaps the clutching of pearls. She expected to be escorted to the door by security immediately, perhaps even roughed up. The article would be sensational—a true exposure. 

And then the omega blinks at her in something that appeared to be genuine surprise, and offers her—a lowly Catco reporter—an unheard-of one-on-one interview. 

It’s almost insane. Lena has nothing to gain from an interview. Everything to lose. Kara could obliterate her, drag her name through the muck. Any Luthor before her would have been too clever for such an obvious trap. But here, Lena walks blithely right into it, hands up to show she’s unarmed. Kara doesn’t know what to make of it all. 

Her stomach is unsettled while she dresses for the interview. And she doesn’t know why, but she picks out her best clothes, as if she’s dressing for a date. Hell, she hadn’t put this much effort into her dates in years. When she buttons up her fly, she’s surprised to find herself a little hard, and not just from excitement over a potential scoop.  _ What is going on with you?  _

But she knows. 

It’s Lena’s scent. It shouldn’t have called to her like that. The omega was mated.  _ Mated _ , for god’s sake. Her scent should have been dull, neutral—the bland emptiness of a claimed omega. Not so sweetly curling into her nostrils that she couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. To Kara’s alpha, Lena didn’t smell mated at all. Her scent spelled out availability, enticement,  _ interest _ . 

Normally, Kara isn’t ever one to pay mind to her baser instincts. She’s sick of being stereotyped as some alpha knothead who can’t go a day without posturing or asserting themselves, so she doesn’t give in to snarling mindsets. She has omega friends, she listens to alpha calming audiobooks, she meditates, takes herbal hormone balancers. She’s polite, civil, restrained. Her last relationship was something of a disaster, so most of her ruts nowadays are alone, biting her fist to keep from jerking her cock raw. Believe it or not, she’ll tell anyone that she prefers it this way. Better that than be a slavering moron over a pretty face and a sweet scent. 

But Lena Luthor ruined nearly thirty years of solid conditioning in one fell swoop, with her multi-colored eyes and contemplative expression. Of course she was beautiful—Kara had seen the pictures, she knew that. The problem was the pictures didn’t seem to have done her any justice from the in person view. And then her scent had the audacity to call out to Kara like Lena fucking Luthor was a veritable prize  _ made _ for the taking.

That shouldn’t have happened with a mated omega,  _ any _ mated omega, no matter how attractive. It’s an anomaly. A fluke. And one she firmly intends to ignore. 

If she could just stop thinking about it. 

But she doesn’t. All the way from her apartment, on the bus, and all the way up the long elevator ride. The beta who greets her with a disdainful frown at the door is the same one from the press conference earlier. She looks altogether displeased to see Kara.  _ Protective, this one. Wonder if she’s complicit in any Luthor scandals. Ah, but I’m reaching. Focus.  _

“Mrs. Luthor is a very busy woman.” The beta snaps, by way of introduction. “So you will not take up more than an hour of her time. Keep your questions brief, polite and civil. _Absolutely_ _no_ _yelling_. Security has been alerted to your presence and will remove you if necessary.” 

Kara wants to crack a joke, but her throat is dry and won’t let her, so she just nods, giving a tight smile. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

The beta gives a little sniff. “See that you do not deviate from that path. Also, Mrs. Luthor has asked me to inform you that she prefers to be referred to by her family name. Not Mrs.  _ Spheer _ .”

“Isn’t that convenient for her?” Kara’s smile has more teeth now. 

The beta’s eyes brighten, dangerously, and she looks like she might deny Kara access after all, just to spite her, but then the door swings open automatically. A lyrical, light voice spills out: “Jess, quit being my watchdog and let her in, please.”

Up close, in her austere white office, the scent of Lena is stronger, more beguiling. It’s settling over Kara’s brain like a fog, making her fuzzy, slow. She shakes hands, politely, ignoring the sudden shock of the omega’s silken palm against her own, and sits down at one end of a white leather couch, settling her chinos discreetly away from bunching at her crotch. Lena sits down at the other end, politely folding her nylon-covered knees together, and oh  _ god _ —with her that close, it’s doing something haywire to Kara’s alpha brain. She’s sweating, and she has to take a sip of the water bottle Lena offers before she can even fumble for her notes. 

“Mrs. Spheer—uh, Mrs. Luthor—uhm, now that you’ve had time to research these allegations—“

“They’re all true.” The omega cuts in, briskly. 

Kara goggles at her. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off, but yes. I did look into it, and it seems you’re absolutely right. My husband is a war profiteer.”

Kara gapes. This is not what she expected. A polite rebuttal. A series of well-researched talking points about neutrality. Not a  _ confession _ . But no, the omega is looking almost serene, with her hands folded in her lap. She hardly blinks. 

“I appreciate you allowing me time to look into it, and I do hope you’ll forgive me for not having immediate answers during the press meeting. I really  _ have _ ignored a lot of what my husband has done for far too long—I suppose I naively assumed that even if he was cutthroat, at least he wasn’t doing anything too harmful. I was wrong in that assumption.”

Kara is having a hard time. Her brain might be on a slow reboot cycle—she doesn’t know. All she can do is blink for a long time at the omega’s regretful expression, jaw working uselessly as she tries to come up with another question. But all of her questions are heavy-hitters designed to weasel forth the truth. And the truth just walked right up and landed in her lap. 

( _ God, how she wishes Lena would—) _

“I understand that you may find my forwardness a bit shocking, Ms. Danvers.” The omega says, cautiously. Her fingers fidget on her pencil skirt’s hem. 

That does it. She can’t help it. It’s all ridiculous and she lets out a short barking laugh that makes Lena sit up straighter, looking at her in something like alarm. 

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“I’ve been raised all my life to lie to the press.” Lena says simply, with an almost-apologetic tone. “I never took well to it, I’m afraid. And my honesty tends to lead to bluntness, when the topic is as unpleasant as this.”

“So...you didn’t know?” Kara’s brain is working slowly to make sense of all this. “You really never knew?”

Lena inclines her head, guileless as a fawn. “No, I never knew.” 

“I came here to write a smear article.” Kara admits, looking into her notes on her lap like they’re going to start disintegrating before her very eyes. “I was so  _ sure _ you knew. It was going to make my career.”

“You can still write one, if you like.” Lena says, without a shred of hesitation. Her eyes are wide and regretful. “I don’t mind. They happen all the time. And I don’t blame you. It’s my own fault I didn’t know, frankly. I just—-never really talk to Jack, all that much.”

Her hands are fiddling in her lap, and Kara can’t help but notice how fine, how aristocratic her long fingers are. Pale as doves, nesting in the dark burgundy of her skirt. She wonders briefly what those fingers would look like wrapped slowly around her cock—and then lifts her eyes, shaking her head slightly. 

“You don’t talk to your mate? Or, I’m sorry—“ Kara looks over her notes, scrambling. “Do you prefer husband? I know some people are starting to use more neutral terms—“

“Either is fine.” Lena waves a hand, distractedly. “And no, not really. We used to, when we were dating, but after we married it was as if Jack didn’t care about my opinion at all, anymore. Or maybe he never did.” She smiles, sadly. “I’m sorry, my imminent divorce is really not on topic for your article.”

“Divorce?” Kara’s papers slip through her fingers, and she hurries to pick them up, mind racing with guilt. Jesus, she’s just ruined a  _ marriage _ . And there’s no scoop, after all. Her inner alpha is cringing back like a whipped dog. “ _ God _ , I’m  _ sorry _ . I didn’t mean to—“

“Ms. Danvers, it’s fine.” Lena leans over the couch, and touches Kara’s distressed, waving arm. 

The moment is sudden, electric. A rush of calm pheromones hits her nose—pleasing and warm, like summer—and she inhales, slowly, blinking like a struck deer. Lena’s hand shakes, a little, and she can see the omega’s eyes widen to a lovely dark forest green, invitingly aroused. But then she takes her hand away, quickly, and Kara blinks back to reality, aware that her cock has started to pulse with an eager heartbeat. She shifts on the couch, and Lena clears her throat. 

“Ah, I was saying, it’s fine. The marriage wasn’t particularly happy. At least, not for me. May I speak candidly, Ms Danvers?”

“Of course. But call me Kara, please.” It’s a polite nothing gesture, and Kara is mostly distracted trying to tuck her cock into her waistband without letting Lena see, but she notices right away how the omega’s eyes light up at the permission. It sends another shuddering throb through her whole body, spine to scalp. 

“Kara.”  _ (Oh _ , she likes how her name sounds on those lips, and so does the omega, judging by the satisfied way she purrs over the letters— _ fucking hell _ .) 

“I didn’t marry Jack for love, although he’s a perfectly decent person, once you know him.” She twists her skirt in her fingers, and Kara is treated to a glimpse of the top of her nylons, held by a garter. “I married him….I suppose to shut my mother up, and to make my business partners stop drooling over my breasts.”

_ Fuck.  _ Kara’s pretty sure she’s been doing just that, mere seconds ago, but she swallows and smiles, nodding like she’s sympathetic. “Being an omega CEO….I’ve heard it’s not an easy task.”

“Nor a Luthor one.” Lena snorts, and the sound is fiendishly pretty. Unfairly so. “My family only put me in this position as a figurehead until Lex could take over, you know. But then he made some bad decisions and got in debt with the wrong people, and now he has to lay low, legally speaking. I was supposed to be his fallguy.” She sniffs. “I didn’t care for the idea, personally.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine I would either.” They share a laugh. Lena’s eyes are startlingly green, but one is lighter, more blue than the other. Kara can’t look away. “Can I ask you something? Off the record, of course.”

“Of course.” Lena nods obligingly. “Ask away.”

“You seem like a good person. How…” Kara flounders for the polite way to ask, but cuts herself off at Lena’s uproarious laugh. “Sorry, if that’s inappropriate Mrs. Luthor.”

“Lena.” The omega corrects, softly, and Kara’s whole body feels her smile— warm inside like an internal combustion engine. “And it’s fine. I assume you were asking why I’m not evil, if I come from the Luthors?” 

At Kara’s hesitant nod, she shrugs.

“Well, I suppose you know I’m only  _ half _ . The result of my father’s torrid affair. My stepmother never made me feel very welcome, as a child, and we’re only stiffly cordial now. My brother was kind, for a time, but after he went to college he got into some very troubling Internet forums and started spouting off about alpha’s rights, and I started to cut my ties.” She gives Kara the favor of seeing her legs cross and uncross. “I never wanted to be the ‘good Luthor’. I just wanted to be a good person. But I suppose those things are always going to be at odds, in the eyes of the press.”

“You  _ are _ a good person.” Kara says, automatically. She hardly even blinks. And somehow, without even a hint of doubt, she knows it’s true. All those charitable acts. All those attempts at reform. Kara no long sees them as pure PR, now. She understands. Lena is truly different. 

The omega is taken aback. Her finger traces over her collarbones and Kara’s eye wants to follow it, but she keeps them resolutely on Lena’s. “You think so?”

“I know so. You didn’t have to do this interview, you had everything to lose. But you did. And you told me the truth,” Kara is aware she’s leaning a bit, but she feels helplessly drawn closer, like a magnet. Lena is leaning a little bit too. Her lips are parted. 

“Well, you seemed nice.” The omega breathes out, which would be ridiculous if her eyes weren’t so liquid and open. Kara keeps looking between them and her lips, which look red and plush as pillows. She can see the pink of Lena’s tongue, behind her teeth, and it occurs to her that she’s definitely too close by now, but then she’s kissing Lena and her brain shuts down. 

The kiss is hot, fervent, sweet. Lena moans under her mouth, opens for her tongue, grabs at her face, her hair, her back. She’s eager and willing, and for a long, desperate moment Kara just gives into it. She pushes the omega back into her perfect couch, musses up her perfect hair and smears her perfect lipstick. Lena is pliant under her but deliciously  _ alive _ , giving as good as she gets, and Kara is hard, heartbeat racing in her cock. Her hips grind down, once, and the little whimper that Lena lets out is a jolt of electricity that singes her awake. 

Kara is wrenching away and up, off the couch, pacing back and forth before the omega even closes her lips. “I’m so sorry. I am so, so  _ sorry _ . You can call security. God knows I deserve it.”

“Kara, please calm down.” The omega’s voice is roughened with arousal, and it makes Kara shudder, hard. “I’m not going to call security.”

“I didn’t mean to. I’m never that sort of alpha, I swear.” Kara is aware she’s babbling, but she can’t stop. She just dry-humped Lena Fucking Luthor in the middle of a goddamn interview. Her career is over. Her  _ life  _ is over. “It’s just—you’re so  _ beautiful _ and you somehow smell so  _ good—- _ “

“You smell good too.” Lena admits, with the kind of soft casualness that Kara could never aspire too. Her voice hitches a little, though. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Too beautiful.” Kara meets her eyes. “I—couldn’t focus. I’m so unprofessional, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” Lena takes her hands, and draws her back down to the couch. “Do you want to kiss me again?” 

“I—yeah.” Kara nods, without a sliver of dignity left. “I do.” 

“And maybe more?” Lena’s grin is devilish, wicked. Kara wants to kiss it right off her lips, and the omega must see that, because she leans a little bit back out of the way. “Not here, though. My assistant will try to murder you if she catches us. Later, tonight?”

_ God, yes. Anything you want.  _ Kara swallows and tries to focus. “Y-yeah, that’d be good. Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure.” Lena tells her, with that same efficient honesty. A smile curls up at the corner of her lips, and Kara is already thinking of ways to make her do that in bed. 

“I just have some errands to run this afternoon first.”

***

That night, for the first and last time, Lena goes to the condo instead of her apartment. 

She expects to find Jack there. What she does not expect is Eve—Jack’s personal assistant—dressed in a red lace lingerie set and bearing a magnum of champagne. The beta shrieks when the door opens, and the bottle slips from her fingers as she goes to cover herself. Luckily, it thuds to the carpet and does not shatter, but begins steadily glugging out onto the pristine white pile that Lena always thought was a bad idea so close to the kitchen area. 

So, no great loss. 

She ignores Eve’s terrified babbling string of apologies, and the ruined carpet, and closes the door neatly behind her, setting her purse on the coffee table. Jack is standing in the bedroom doorway, dressed in a silk pair of boxers she definitely doesn’t remember buying for him, and still at half-mast. He’s looking between her blasé expression and Eve’s whimpering like he hopes he can still make a deal here. Like he thinks he can somehow come out of this strong. 

That’s when she knows she’s made the right choice—the obvious cheating notwithstanding. 

“Do be quiet, Eve dear.” She says, when it’s clear the beta will not stop apologizing. “I won’t be here long. I just have some paperwork I need Jack to sign.” 

Jack comes to her with a sheepish half-grin. “Darling, I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“You didn’t want me to find out at all. Lucky thing we always used protection.” Lena says, evenly. She taps the divorce papers. “Sign here and here please.”

Jack looks down, and then up again. “You can’t be serious. She’s just a  _ fling _ , for god’s sake.” (In the entryway, Eve is sopping up champagne with paper towels, and stops at that, making an affronted noise, but neither of them pay her any attention.) “Surely you’ve had your share of affairs. Be reasonable, Lena.”

“I haven’t, actually.” Lena responds, honestly. “But not out of any loyalty to you, I’m afraid. No, this is not about your fidelity, or lack thereof. This is about your war dealings.”

Jack blinks. “Ah.”

“Did you not think how that would reflect back on the Luthor name?” Her tone is sharp, but her eyes soften. “Jack, I can’t have that, not with my new publicity push. You know that. Not now. I’m sorry, but it’s best we cut ties.”

In the end, he signs. But he does make some bluster about it, which Lena appreciates. Eve continues mopping up the champagne in the background, but judging from the dark muttering Lena can hear, she’s not staying long either. 

“I did love you, you know.” Jack tells her, almost sadly, as he’s handing back her copy of the paperwork. “Did you ever love me?”

“I don’t know.” Lena tells him, not unkindly. He takes it well, she can see from how his shoulders soften. “But I’m not sure I ever knew what love was, Jack.”

“I hope you find it.” Jack tells her, suddenly, with an earnest smile that she remembers fondly from their pre-marriage days. “I really do. You deserve happiness. I’m sorry it couldn’t be with me.”

“Thank you darling.” Lena touches his hand, and squeezes the knuckles. “I hope that for you, too.”

He offers to drive her home, but she can tell it’s less from misplaced chivalry and more from a desire to escape the building wrath of Eve, waiting quietly in the bedroom. Lena declines, and leaves him to it—he has it coming, after all, and she doesn’t feel a lot of guilt about that, to be frank. She’s almost whistling when she steps into the warm night. It’s beautiful. She feels alive in it. 

On a whim on the way back home to her apartment, she pulls her Tesla over at a lingerie store and buys a set of red lace. 

***

Kara doesn’t know what she’s doing. 

_ This is insane.  _ She chants in her head, all the way up the twenty-nine floor ride in the elevator. It’s a long time to chant. She’s sure she’s going totally fucking crazy—what else could possibly be driving this? There’s no way a sane alpha with journalistic integrity would be on her way up to the penthouse with every intention of fucking the living daylights out of Lena Luthor. 

But here she is, anyway, hands sweaty and gripping on the bottle of wine she’d brought. Lena recommended the brand—Kara doesn’t know it, but judging by the price and the label, it’s probably fairly good. Her whole body is tight with anticipation and feverish to have the chance to touch the omega again. Kiss her. Press close enough to let her feel the hardness between their bodies. Slide rough palms over her smooth skin and see how far up her stockings run. 

_ Jesus. Calm down.  _ She tells herself, but it’s too late—she’s already a little hard when the elevator  _ pings _ to a stop. There’s only one door at the end of the hallway, and she knows exactly what’s behind it. Excitement is thick in her veins, throttling her senses, and she’s struck dumb, mouth dry, hesitating at the door with nothing cogent to say. Lena’s scent is a blooming, unfolding flower in her nostrils, and it’s making her a little dizzy. 

When the omega opens the door, she only gets dizzier. 

“Hi.” Lena’s voice is nervous, breathy. She’s dressed simply—t-shirt and jeans—but the t-shirt is low cut and the jeans are tight.  _ Fuck.  _ Kara’s turned on just from the way her fingers clutch at the door frame. Like she’s holding herself back. 

“Hi.”

For a moment they just gawp at each other. It’s a lot. There’s this thick, unbridled tension. Kara can feel it winding in her belly like a spring on a trap. 

Lena invites her in, takes the wine and her coat. They make quiet small talk, avoiding the elephant in the room, dancing around it. Kara pretends to admire some artwork on Lena’s elegant walls. Lena asks who does Kara’s hair. Etc. Bland, neutral, polite. 

Until Kara’s knuckles brush into Lena’s when reaching for a wine glass. 

The contact is sweetly electric—just as it was in the office. Kara had been thinking maybe that it wouldn’t be. Maybe it was just a fluke. But the breath that Lena holds and then quietly releases sends every hair on her body to rioting, and she’s tense with the need to press Lena’s long fingers, one by one, to her lips. 

Lena looks down at their fingers touching, and then up into Kara’s clearly-hazy eyes. She bites her lip. “I don’t normally do things like this.”

_ Like what? Letting me fuck you all over your kitchen island?  _ “Like this?”

“Inviting a stranger to my apartment for sex.” Lena’s voice is low. 

Kara’s spine is tingly with the implications, but she keeps her voice steady. “Well, you’re pretty newly divorced, so...give it time.”

That upends the tension. Lena lets out a high, startled laugh, and Kara joins in, willingly. It feels better, after. Like a seal that needed to be broken. When it dies down, though, Lena gives her a shy glance and then looks away. “I suppose I meant that generally I like to get to know someone a bit more before…”

“Same here.” Kara feels calm settle in her belly. She takes Lena’s hand, and feels the weight of her warm palm. “We don’t have to do anything. We can talk all night, if you’d like. Or I can leave in an hour. I’m interested in getting to know you at your pace.”

“Is that so?” Lena’s giving her an arched glance now that is a bit more knowing, but Kara doesn’t mind being found out. 

She grins, widely. “Yeah, I think there’s even these things called ‘dates’. We should try one. Maybe have dinner.”

“I’ve heard of those.” Lena laughs and laces their fingers together. “That’s good. I’m glad you...well, I’m glad you feel the same way.”

“I think I definitely do.” Kara tells her, honestly. She’s expecting a smile in return, or maybe a sweet blush. 

But the firm, fierce kiss that Lena lands on her—crawling almost into her lap to deliver it—is even better. 

God, kissing Lena is like dousing gasoline on a wildfire. She can’t stop, can’t slow down. Her hands pace along the omega’s spine, and when Lena whimpers into her mouth, teeth dragging on her lower lip, she shudders with her whole body. It’s like all reason and logic flies out the window and all that’s left is  _ want _ . 

They grind on the couch like horny teenagers, moaning back and forth in a heady loop, and Kara’s long-controlled inner alpha is suddenly up and running on entirely new software. It’s downright impossible to wrench away, which is why it’s good that Lena does it, softly kissing her in quick bursts as an apology. It gives Kara a chance to catch her breath and stop her hands from dangerously wandering down to cup Lena’s ass. 

“I’m sorry.” Lena breathes into her lips, and Kara rumbles in response, her alpha insistent that there’s nothing to apologize for. Lena laughs, breathlessly, and she can see her point is made. “I just—wanted to kiss you since you left my office and if you say nice things I apparently lose all composure.”

“You’re not alone in that.” Kara offers, low in her throat. She clears it, aware the omega’s eyes are still wide and dark and unfocused. “Ah, we should probably stop kissing if you want things to stay chivalrous and appropriate, however.”

She means it as some more light banter, but Lena’s mood instantly shifts. Dangerously so. The omega’s lids half-drop, and she’s climbing closer to Kara, fingers moving on the hem of Kara’s shirt, headed toward her belt buckle. “Who says I want that?”

“Oh  _ shit— _ “ Lena’s fingers are deft and quick, and the shuffle of leather and clinking metal is taking Kara’s head somewhere dark and hormonal. Her voice is all rasp and rumble when she gets herself together to grab at Lena’s reaching wrist. “What happened to dating first, huh?”

“We can date after.” Lena says, and leans in to kiss along Kara’s pulse. “I want that too, believe me. But you’ve turned me on more than anyone I’ve ever even seen just  _ smelling _ you and if you don’t touch me I’m going to combust.”

“ _ Jesus _ .” Lena’s other hand is busy, dragging Kara’s wrist under her shirt. Kara’s hand molds over one cup of her bra, stiff with the padding, and her finger slips under the edge. The skin of Lena’s nipple brushes her knuckle, unbearably soft, and she grunts, head gone. “Okay.  _ Fuck _ . As long as you’re okay with that.”

“Believe me Kara, I’m more okay than I’ve been in a long time.” Lena laughs into her neck. “I’m looking forward to you upgrading that status to pretty good in about five minutes or so.”

“Let’s shoot for great or better.” Kara tilts her head down and conquers Lena’s mouth with lusty abandon. She forgets about meditations and calming audiobooks. She forgets about being chivalrous. The only thing she knows is that Lena tastes like honey and sex and she’s never been this drunk on anyone before. It’s undeniable. 

The way they rile each other up is so desperate it’s almost embarrassing. It feels like a blink of an eye before Kara has her face buried in Lena’s tits, gasping, while the omega jerks her off with a spit-slicked palm. Her fingers  _ were _ working to tease along the omega’s clit through her panties, but somehow when Lena touches her cock her brain goes dead, and the fingers with it. It takes some eager, insistent jerks of Lena’s hips before Kara can restart, panting as the omega’s warm palm squeezes at her base. 

“You feel so good.” Lena tells her, head arched back over the edge of the couch, leg dangling over the side. She looks like a reclined Grecian maidan. Kara would think about drawing her if she could stop sucking and licking at her lovely pink nipples for five seconds—but she doesn’t want to. “ _ God _ . Thick and warm.  _ Hard _ . Are you going to be this hard when you fuck me?”

That does it. Kara lets out a sharp little cry and pumps her hips three or four times into Lena’s hand before she comes, startled at her own eagerness. The sticky rush splashes onto the omega’s jeans and her belly, but she doesn’t seem to care. She keeps her hand wrapped warmly around Kara’s twitching cock, cooing encouragement and praise at the amount and speed of her coming. 

It’s the hottest thing Kara’s ever experienced in her life, but the night isn’t over yet. 

Lena keeps stroking her, but Kara’s got a handle on things now, one orgasm in, and she’s able to overcome her distractions. The omega does a lovely little gasp whenever Kara’s thumb rasps against the left side of her clit, and Kara’s inner alpha is pleased by how her red lips drop open and her eyes go slack. She pursues that image vigorously, and pretty soon Lena’s dropped her grip to a loose fist on Kara’s cock in favor of crying out helplessly while Kara fucks her with two bent fingers and rubs madly against her clit. 

“Oh—you—what are you—-“ Lena’s face is gorgeous in her surprise. Red and wondering, lips wet and eyes glassy. “Don’t stop,  _ please _ don’t stop.”

“Yeah? You like that?” Kara’s in her head, fierce and dirty. “Your husband doesn’t make you feel like this, huh?”

“No, never.” Lena gasps out, and Kara grunts in pleased response, heart thumping. 

Lena is impossible to not touch. Her little pussy is so wonderfully responsive, jumping at the slightest touch, and she’s lusciously wet and  _ tight _ . Kara has to work to get her open for three fingers, and the way she moans about it makes the alpha think she’s not accustomed to much foreplay. Kara gets the sense she isn’t used to this sort of treatment—maybe any treatment at all—and she spares a contemptuous thought to Lena’s ex-husband before her alpha comes roaring in with conquering delight at how the omega keens at her touch. 

It doesn’t matter if Lena isn’t used to being treated like the clear royalty she is. Kara’s here now. Time to start setting some trends. 

Lena comes with a sharp, awe-filled cry, hands clutching wildly on Kara’s driving forearms as if she can’t help but want to aid it along without touching herself. It’s almost sweet, how she bucks and gasps. When she comes down, she smiles at Kara with wide, happy eyes like that was plenty more than she expected. Like she’s expecting to be done now. 

But Kara isn’t done now. 

It’s hard to put the genie back into the bottle when it’s out. Kara’s alpha is the same. Her mind has dropped somewhere between her shoulder blades and a lower, more primal directive is ruling her now. She growls and tosses the omega’s legs over her shoulders to bury her face in Lena’s still pulsing cunt, and that’s when she lets Lena know this is not going to be as simple as her previous encounters. 

Oh no. Not at all. 

She licks Lena’s peach-pink little cunt on the couch for the better part of the next hour, fucking her slow and deep with reaching fingers. Two, three, once up to four. It’s languorous and unhurried. She gets the sense Lena needs this, and she’s rewarded with a series of high-pitched cries of her name and expletive pleas every time the omega comes. Which is...probably four or five more times. 

In the end, Lena is doe-eyed and glassy, and entirely obedient with her head jerking on a nod when Kara asks if she’d like to go to the bedroom. Kara leads the way, even though she’s never been, because Lena is too far into her omega headspace to even direct traffic. They stumble giggling into two closets and a bathroom before Kara finally turns the right handle. 

In the bedroom, she finally gets a chance to strip them both naked, and oh—that pauses things a bit. Especially when Kara sees the red, lurid lace under Lena’s simple t-shirt and jeans, and that really derails her brian for a good five minutes. There’s a lot of appreciative groaning. 

Lena blushes almost enough to match her lingerie as she turns in Kara’s hands, looking down at herself with a critical eye. “I don’t normally—-it was just a whim.”

“ _ Please _ keep having whims like this around me.” Kara whispers, reverently, and judging by the fire that sparks in the omega’s eyes, she’s said the right thing. 

On the bed, she unrolls a condom, and Lena watches her with a keen, interested eye, propped up on one elbow. Her hand goes out with curiosity written all over her features, but Kara bats her away, grunting. She needs all her concentration to not snap the damn thing and give herself a very painful injury that will make this night horrifically memorable in all the wrong ways. But then it’s done and she’s rolling between Lena’s open, bent knees, kissing her way up to her lips as the omega arches greedily, bringing her pussy up to rub against Kara’s slow glide forward, and even through the latex, when she bumps into that molten heat with the tip of her cock, she hisses. 

But that’s nothing compared to the noise they both make when she sinks the tip inside. 

Lena is tight and fluttering all around her, and she grabs at Kara’s back, tilting her head back. Her neck is exposed, and Kara’s alpha wants to decorate it with a mark so strongly that she  _ almost _ does it—and that’s a first-time thought that she’s going to have to process later, when she’s not inside the snuggest pussy she’s ever felt.  _ God _ . Lena is like a glove around her, and it’s just drawing her deeper, deeper, deeper. 

Fucking Lena is—-another plane of existence. Another form of seeing God, maybe. Something equally hyperbolic, but less religious. She doesn’t know how to describe it. It’s like coming home with your key in the lock, fitting the last puzzle into place, something like that. The wet noises, the way she moans, the way her legs fall open, splayed. When she comes, her lips look like fresh fruit, and her fingers twist in the sheets, and she sounds like she’s begging, even when she’s not begging with words. It’s like fucking a Renaissance painting. Kara might have to write essays about it. 

Private ones, of course. 

“ _ God—you—you _ feel so good.” Lena moans out, biting into her arm, her shoulder, anything she can reach. “Never felt this good.”

“What would your office say if they saw you getting fucked like a good girl for me?” Kara licks into her ear and Lena cries out, coming almost out of reflexive shock. 

It’s incendiary, the way they set each other off. 

She hauls Lena around the bed, luxuriating in her pliant, vulnerable flesh. Part of her knows she would already love to do this for the rest of her life. And that should scare her, but it  _ doesn’t _ — it feels beatifically justified. When she pulls Lena’s legs up and over her shoulders and hears the omega rasp out  _ deeper  _ while she fucks her, she plunges deep enough to bump into the narrow mouth of Lena’s cervix. She doesn’t feel tired, she doesn’t feel any urges of her own. She just wants to fuck Lena until she can’t walk, and then she wants to sleep, and wake up and do that again. And again and again and again. 

It’s insane how instantly addicted she is. 

And maybe it’s love at first sight, or a soul bond, or some kind of pure lustful nonsense, but whenever Lena comes, she feels it ripple through her own flesh and bones in sweet sympathy. And it’s never been this good. Never even been this close. 

She doesn’t even realize she’s panting, getting tense and desperate in her thrusts, until Lena arches up and tugs on her earlobe with delicate teeth. “I want you to come. Please, it feels so good. You’re so  _ deep _ .”

Kara  _ wants _ to—who wouldn’t, with that kind of incentive? But the more frenzied she becomes, the farther away her orgasm seems to slip from her gasp. The condom feels like it’s cutting off all sensation and she strives for even the hint of it. “ _ Fuck _ —I’m trying, sorry babe I—-“

The pet name just slips out, but it’s immediately well-received. Lena’s hand slips down to her hip, urging her to slow. “Pull out and take the condom off.”

“Yeah, that’s—that’d be good, hang on, yeah—“ Kara’s in the babbling stage. Her head is lost and she grunts when she slips the condom off and flings it away, fisting her wet cock immediately as she aims for Lena’s belly. “Gonna come on you, cover you—-“

“Go back inside.” Lena’s voice is sibilant, a suggestive whisper that sends shivers down every vein. Her fingers wrap around Kara’s fingers, both aiding her movement and guiding her back to Lena’s entrance. “I want you inside Kara. I want you to come  _ in _ me.”

“God.” Kara whines out, fingers scrabbling helplessly on the bed as her tip ghosts against Lena’s wetness. Only the shaky position of her hips keeps Lena’s insistent hand at bay. “But—-I could get you pregnant.”

“It’s okay.” Lena gasps out. “It’s safe, trust me. Go ahead. I  _ want _ you to.”

She doesn’t need any further permission than that, really. It was honestly a token protest. Kara closes her eyes, drops her hips forward and grunts, burying herself again in one slick stroke. 

It’s a totally different experience without the condom. Overwhelming, in fact. She thought she’d found heaven before but apparently she had only touched the gates. Now she’s  _ in _ and oh fuck—it’s a velvet warmth that milks along her length with tender gripping pulses, and she’s gone, thrusting away like a frantic freight train. 

“Oh fuck, oh Kara, do it like that, yes  _ please—- _ “ Lena’s nails dig into her back, and the omega cries out under her, startled and intense, but Kara barely hears her. Her whole body only serves the purpose of hammering out her orgasm now, and she barely registers when Lena starts to come with her, words choked out by an almost-silent scream. 

Kara buries her face in Lena’s soft-smelling hair and closes her eyes as the pressure builds to a crescendo. And that night, right there—is the first time she thinks the words  _ holy shit I think I love you  _ and means it. She even almost says it when she comes, but manages to bite it off into a garbled moan, hips stuttering into Lena’s as she releases, again and again. It’s a lot. It’s intense. Probably the best orgasm of her short life, to date. She can’t blame herself from going a little crazy, emotionally. 

But she never really mentally bothers to take it back, either. 

And that turns out to be a good thing. 

***

It’s three years later when Lena sees Jack again. 

She and Kara are at the farmer’s market, and their baskets are already laden. Kara found the honeycomb dealer, however, and is doing a bit of brisk, furious bargaining over two hand-sized chunks. Her shades have slipped down, and her Sunday hair is mussed in the ponytail, but when she turns to give Lena a triumphant grin and a thumbs up, Lena’s heart swells and gives a thump like an eager rabbit. 

She loves Kara so deeply, so naturally, that she never has to think about it. It’s a funny state of existence, for someone who never believed she was capable of it, but it doesn’t feel fragile. Or untenable. It feels like a concrete foundation beneath her feet. It feels like blue sky above her head with spring sun on her arms, hands full of tasting apples and collard greens, laughing to see her fiancée drip honey all over her fingers. It feels like home, wherever she is. 

And it’s in the moment that she’s reveling in how far she’s come, that she sees where she came from, so to speak. 

Jack rounds the corner with a sleek looking younger model on his arm, looking at the homemade tortillas. He looks older, but no less handsome, and for a moment Lena’s heart clenches to see him. But then it passes. He looks up, and catches her eye, as his girlfriend bends over to examine a Saran-wrapped package of corn meal. For a moment, they look at each other like strangers catching eyes across a bus, or a crowded airplane. 

And then he smiles, and tips his hand at her. A little friendly wave. To say  _ I’m still me, are you still you?  _

And she smiles back, and puts her hands in the pockets of Kara’s jeans, to say  _ No, but I’m better.  _

***

**Author's Note:**

> Bored of quarantine and needing a treasure trove of smut? Follow the link in my [ Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/aspidities) for updates and prompts and gay bullshittery the likes of which you’ve never seen


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